


Home is not a Place

by OmgReally



Category: The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Cuddling, Din Djarin Needs a Hug, Din Djarin Removes the Helmet, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mando hugs are the best hugs, Prompt Fill, Soft Din Djarin, Tired Din Djarin
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-10
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-17 05:33:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29961660
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OmgReally/pseuds/OmgReally
Summary: It's a person.The Mandalorian comes home to you.
Relationships: Din Djarin/F!Reader
Comments: 3
Kudos: 56





	Home is not a Place

**Author's Note:**

> prompt fill for @babe-im-bi!
> 
> 25\. Kiss me
> 
> 63\. I'm home
> 
> 93\. Come cuddle

Din’s footsteps are heavy on the deck, but they usually are; you’re not sure if it’s all that Beskar or the guilt that he carries with him like a shroud at all times. You can never coax him to talk about it; he shakes it away likes smoke if you mention it, but you can tell it weighs him down.

But you are patient, and you are kind. Two things the Mandalorian never thought he could deserve or know with any true intimacy.

“I’m back,” he calls for you, fighting the gravelly crackle of fatigue in his voice. The vocabulator does what it can to even it out but it still sounds like he’s been gargling gravel. He sighs.

You emerge from his bunk - your bunk, _their_ bunk, it’s strange thinking of it like that now - the line of your collarbone visible between the blanket you clutch around yourself and the brush of your hair over your shoulder. You yawn, a hand lifting to scrub at your eyes. You were asleep, probably, and Din wonders if you dreamt of him.

“Help me get this off,” he says as he sits on the edge of a crate and starts tugging at his armor. It’s suddenly too tight around his chest, too constricting.

You join him in the practiced dance, laying aside each piece of his armor with the reverence it is due, as if it’s his very skin you’re helping him peel from his bones. Sometimes, it feels like it is.

“You caught him?” you ask softly as you help lift his cuirass over his head, careful not to dislodge the helmet. Not yet.

“Yes. He was hiding in his mother’s basement,” he says of the bounty, too tired even to roll his eyes. “Thought she might beg me not to take him.” He sighs again. “She begged me to stay for tea.”

“Well? Did you?” He doesn’t miss the amused glint in your eye, or the way the blanket slips to expose more of your skin. He reaches out and palms your shoulder, your bicep, and you allow him to explore down to your elbow, across your forearm and finally to your hand, where he twines his gloved fingers with yours.

“No. Wanted to come back to you,” he says simply.

Your expression crumbles, and for a moment he thinks you’re going to cry - but you only smile. _Patient and kind_. He still has his thighguards on, and his vambraces, but you don’t care - you step between his legs and wrap your arms around him, and you hold his helmet close to your naked breasts, so tightly it’s as if you’re trying to make him hear your heartbeat through bone and the Beskar itself.

“I missed you,” you whisper. “Come to bed.”

He nods, and you step back, guiding him into your shared sleeping quarters. He doesn’t need to reach for the controls - you’re already there, thumbing the button that has the hatch sliding shut to bathe you both in darkness.

In darkness, it doesn’t feel quite so suffocating. In darkness, he can take off his helmet and _breathe_ , pretend he is not a Mandalorian breaking his Creed, but just a _man_ instead. For once.

You take the helm from his hands and set it aside, then you draw him towards you, towards the bed and down, down, down onto the mattress. You roll onto your side and sidle into his space, the line of your back conforming to the softer planes of his unarmored chest.

It never fails to feel strange, holding another person like this; holding another person at _all_. But at the same time Din never tires of it - of your soft warmth, of the smell of your hair, of the texture of your skin beneath his lips as he presses his face into your neck and inhales you. His arms are tight around you, caging you in, blocking the galaxy out, folding you into him until nothing else exists but him, the press of muscle, the pulse of blood and the ache of bone.

You don’t need to tell him to curl an impossibly broad hand around your cheek, to turn your head so he can kiss you. You don’t need to ask him to press his lips to yours. There was a time where you had to, but not anymore.

When you part, you are warmed and weakened by it. You feel, rather than see his smile. 

“Welcome home,” you say, and here in his arms, you are home, too.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on [tumblr](http://omgreally.tumblr.com), come say hi!


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